


Shelby Moll

by Stargirl4Ever



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: 1920s slang, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gangsters, Kidnapping, Reader-Insert, Romance, Suffragist Movement, Swearing, Tommy Shelby Is Fascinating, sexy stuff if you know what I mean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-13 04:57:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3368675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stargirl4Ever/pseuds/Stargirl4Ever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're the only daughter of the head the Holloway family, and when you get kidnapped by a rival gang known as the Peaky Blinders, their enigmatic leader at first considers you to be nothing more than another piece of his master plan. But even the great Tommy Shelby's schemes can go awry...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. By Order of the Peaky Blinders

**Author's Note:**

> I love, love, love this show! It's brilliant and needs more fan attention. It has plenty of cheekbone porn (Cillian Murphy), gangsters, and awesome 1920s stuff!
> 
> Also, the song for this chapter is "Keep Your Hands Off Her" by The Black Keys. I think the low-key sound of this track fits pretty well.

You struggled against whoever was currently tying your wrists together with cord behind your back. The scratchy handkerchief tied around your eyes gave no indication to what the person that was holding you looked like, but you knew that he was large, gruff, and brutal, having knocked out your maid and struck you in the face. The room had been dark when he entered, the light from the hallway temporarily blinding you and giving you not much opportunity to fight back.

You felt a small trail of blood drip down the side of your face from when you had hit your cheek against your bed table after he had smacked you hard enough to make you fall over.

The screams of the people in your house and a gunshot from somewhere resonated through your ears as the man dragged you onto the balcony overlooking the main foyer of your family’s rather grand home, hearing the chaos ensue below. You heard the click of a gun being cocked from behind you and you felt your heart flutter and your breath quicken, making you feel a wave of lightheadedness.

A gunshot cracked above your head, making you gasp and nearly faint, but you resolved to yourself that you would do no such thing: a woman in this situation always finds herself in more trouble if she passes out. The unseen chaos in the room stopped. The only thing you could hear for a few seconds was a ringing in your head.

The man spoke in a hideous bellowing voice, practically yelling. “This is by order of the Peaky Blinders! Deliver the due goods and not much harm will come to your precious girl here!” He said. You cringed when he mockingly caressed your cheek, smearing your blood. “If you have any inquiries, feel free to speak to Tommy Shelby himself! Watch out though, he’ll be too busy horizontal with this whore!” He said shaking you hard.

You swallowed, knowing why the men were here. Your father was the head of the Holloway family of Coventry, known for their drug-dealing. You personally had no part in the gangster family business, but your last name was still Holloway: an unwarranted hazard on your part.

The man hauled you down the stairs by your upper arm, painfully squeezing it. You felt yourself go through the front doors and into the cool night air. Your bare feet were in pain from the sharp gravel of the driveway, but the man didn’t slow down to let you walk gingerly over it. You flinched when the sound of another gunshot came from within the house.

He stopped suddenly, pushing you forward hard and sending you onto your knees. Blood trickled from your scraped kneecaps, but they were the least of your worries.

As though your situation couldn’t get any worse, your silky peach-coloured peignoir had slipped up, exposing your bare thighs. With your hands tied, you could do nothing about it. You were slightly out of breath, and so very uncomfortable.

You should be struggling, screaming even. Not just sitting like a bum and acting like a helpless, wanton damsel. You did however remember that the man who had dumped you on the ground had a loaded pistol, and he wasn’t afraid to use it.

You heard the crunch of the small rocks as someone slowly and deliberately walked closer, stopping a pace or so in front of you. You squeezed your eyes shut, despite your already restricted vision.

“This her?” A calm, low, and slightly monotonous Brummie voice spoke to the man behind you.

“Yeah, this her alright. Hasn’t spoken a word, sir.” The man who had dragged you out here said. You could tell by his now taut voice that he was nervous in regards to whoever he was talking to. The shouts from the house still continued, and the rumbling sound of an automobile pulling up nearby made you shiver.

“I don’t blame her, being snatched by the likes of someone like you, Pierre.” The calm Brummie man joked, though there wasn't much humour to be heard in his voice. The other man laughed apprehensively.

The Brummie was silent for a moment before speaking again. “Get’er up and put her in the car.”

Pierre roughly picked you up pushing you forward into the nearby vehicle. You sat down uncomfortably, your hands pressed between your back and the hard leather seat. The awkward placement of your hands made your chest stick out, and you blushed. Blushing was something that you did quite often, to your chagrin.

You could hear talking, but couldn’t quite make it out over the sound of the engine.

Someone slid in beside you, closing the door shut, and you heard someone else get into the front of the car, making it tilt slightly under their weight. Their door closed and the car pulled forward, instantly creating a breeze. Automobiles weren’t exactly known for their warmth, this car was probably a breezer.

Your skin prickled, and your stuttered breath was an obvious indication of the cold. You were shivering, but you weren’t sure if it was the effects of fear, or just the feeling of the air flying past.

“Do you understand why you’re being taken away?” The calm man who was sitting next you said, his voice charismatic. The smoky reticence of his voice would have been incredibly pleasing, but the icy edge to it was a bit disconcerting given your current situation and the words he said.

You swallowed, carefully thinking out your reply. “It’s because I happen to have 'Holloway' as my surname.” You said, a tiny bit of sarcasm lining your words, trying not to hinder your speech with your chattering teeth.

Though you couldn’t see it, Tommy briefly flashed a smile. “You’re a clever girl.” He hummed over the rumble of the engine, watching your violent shivering.

He slowly looked over your rather exposed figure, noting the small trail of blood on your face, and the blood from your knees staining the gossamer silk of your pyjamas. He looked at your calves and down to your bare feet. He calculated his next move.

You felt the man next to you shift in his seat and then you felt the weight and warmth of a large coat draped over your front like a blanket. You let out a tiny sigh from the newly found protection from the cold. Tommy didn’t expect a ‘thank you’ from your lips.

“I might understand being kidnapped, but why am I still blindfolded?” You rather boldly asked. It didn’t really make sense to you, it’s not like you _didn’t_ know the way from Coventry to Birmingham. The Shelby headquarters in Small Heath on Watery Lane was no secret to anybody.

“It’s a formality. If Pierre’s gonna carry off a girl from her bedroom, he’s surely got to put a handkerchief over her eyes.” He said, amused. “Might as well kidnap you properly.”

In spite of yourself, you laughed a little. You breathed through your nose, smelling expensive cologne and hazy cigarette smoke on his coat. It was surprisingly comforting, but you pushed the thought away as quickly as it had appeared.

“Who are you?” You asked after a minute of silence. You knew most of the answer from eavesdropping on your father’s angry telephone conversations, but you decided to ask anyways. Though you had a large house, the walls were paper-thin.

“Thomas Shelby, head of the Peaky Blinders.” He said, languidly taking a drag from his cigarette. He could tell you already knew who he was.

You sucked in a sharp breath, catching the sharp scent of the cigarette as he exhaled slowly. This man was one of the most brutal hoodlums in all of Britain. You decided you would wait to ask any more questions, just in case his pleasantries happen to go south.

The ride back to his family’s home and headquarters took about an hour. When the car came to a stop, you could hear the rhythmic workings factory machinery, a baby crying in the distance, and sounds of nearby skylarking. The stack smoke was thick in the air, pungent and choking.

Tommy slid out of the car, unhurriedly walking around the car to open your door. He pulled the coat off of you, throwing it over the side of the car and exposing your body to the cool air. He made sure you were standing firmly on the ground before he got his knife from his pocket, turning you around so your back was to him and your front was pressed into the car door.

“Stand still.” He said, the modulation in his voice present despite his serene tone.

You heard the distinct sound of a switchblade being opened, and you felt your heart beat faster. You stiffened when his cold hands moved down your arms and to your wrists, the knife cutting through the layers of cord.

You slowly brought your wrists to your sides, feeling the dull pain in your upper back and shoulders due to their extended immobility. Tommy put the coat back on your shoulders and you put your arms into their respective places of the coat, wrapping it around your body and crossing your arms.

He led you up the few steps of his building with his hand gently, but firmly on the back of your neck, and his car pulled away to go to the garage down the street. You had no choice but to comply with him, not exactly wanting to. You knew that despite his relaxed demeanor, he was a very dangerous man.

You entered a building, grateful for the sudden all-over warmth. You could hear a fire crackling quietly nearby.

A woman’s somewhat sharp voice rang from the other room. “Tommy! It’s the dead of the night! I was prayin’ to God the whole—” She halted her talking. Tommy didn’t say anything.

“Is that the _Holloway girl_?” Aunt Pol said to him with a look of scrutiny on her face after seeing your blindfold and wearing his coat. When she saw your bare legs, her head snapped up at Tommy’s, her eyes narrowing in anger.

She was more than done with Tommy not counselling with the rest of the family before making major decisions, and her dark eyes reflected her inner fury. You were the only child of Bruno Holloway, boss of his family and the rather incompetent and trigger-happy Holloway gang. This was _very_ serious.

“The plans changed when we got there.” He explained coolly, moving you to a chair and sitting you down. You heard the quiet rattling of stuff from around the room, and the clink of of several other things being set down. You heard him pour a liquid into another container.

“I’m going to bed. You’ve got to deal with the consequences of things on your own right now.” Pol said, looking over your quiet form before ascending the stairs to her room. “And use your better judgement; you never were much good with girls, _poor thing_.” The last part referring sarcastically to you. A door slammed upstairs.

You jolted slightly when Tommy’s cold fingers began undoing the handkerchief around your head. Your eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, taking in the fire and the many decorations.

You glanced at the table, seeing a flat peaky cap with two razor blades sewn into the front, their sharp edges glinting in the light of the fire. They were called the Peaky Blinders because of what they could do with those razor blades.

You didn’t look up at Tommy when he stepped in front of you, but when he knelt down, he caught you with his icy blue eyes.

You took in his face for a moment, observing his alpine cheekbones and pale, penetrating eyes with your own wide ones. His astute gaze caught you off guard, and you had not expected him to be so strikingly attractive.

All thoughts were thrown aside when he opened the coat you were wearing and began pushing the silk of the peignoir up your legs and onto your thighs. You gasped and almost pushed his hands away, but you didn’t want to touch him.

“ _Wait_.” You said in a hushed, hurried tone. Tommy removed his hands.

He looked up at you with calculating shrewdness. “Why?” He blinked languorously up at you through his dark eyelashes. He knew very well what was going through your mind, but he made it clear that he demanded an explanation from you.

He watched your expression change as you struggled to bring your worries into vocal fruition. Your voice lowered into an embarrassed whisper. “The man said... I don’t want... He said... You were going to... ”

“To what?” He pushed unsympathetically.

“To go all _horizontal_ on me.” You whispered Pierre’s crude words, feeling your face heat up. It’s not very often you talked about such things, let alone with a man.

Tommy scoffed, amusement evident. “Is that so? That's what you were told?”

In truth, Tommy hadn’t thought on fucking you, but the internal gears of his mind began moving. His eyes narrowed, thinking things over, calculating his plans against your father.

You were surprised, having expected something to happen as it would in one of the penny dreadfuls that your friends had given to you. The kind where the hapless captive girl happens to get thoroughly ravished by her abductor. Your cheeks burned at the thought.

Tommy leaned forward, his face to the side of yours, reaching onto the table for a bowl of water with a rag in it. You sucked in a sharp breath, flushed by his proximity.

Wringing out the rag, he began to clean your skinned knees, the place on your body with the most blood. You cried out for a second, biting your lip and clenching the material of his coat at your sides. You hadn’t expected it to hurt so much, and now you knew the water was in fact alcohol. He stopped for a moment before resuming.

When he was finished there, he got up and sat in the chair next to you with easier access to your bloodied face.

He took another cloth off the table and dipped the corner into the bowl of alcohol, and started to dab gently at the cut on your cheek. You pulled back instinctively, but he quickly moved his hand to your head, holding you in place. He stroked your unhurt cheek with his thumb, catching you off guard.

“This’ll only take a moment.” He said, his voice rather soothing. He was being very agreeable, considering that you were a hostage. It was unnerving, being reminded of the civility of villains in the books you liked to read. Those polite villains however, were often still remarkably cruel.

He continued, watching you squeeze your eyes shut and try to steady yourself against the pain, a few tears rolling down your cheeks. When he let go, you turned your head away from him, not wanting him to see you crying any longer.

“Stand up.” He instructed, still being oh-so-very casual about it. You did as he said.

“We’re going upstairs.” He called, closing his eyes for a second as he spoke. He followed you, his hands in his pockets. He felt his pack of cigarettes, but didn’t take one.

He put his hand on your lower back, carefully showing you up the steps.


	2. Faintly Menacing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, I'm considering boosting the rating to 'M' just to be safe. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope that Tommy's in character. He's not a very good man, but he's not truly horrible, and I hope that I captured some of that. I was very inspired by some of Cillian Murphy's other performances, especially Red Eye, and maybe a bit of Batman Begins for this chapter. 
> 
> The song for this chapter is super cliche and from the TV show, but it fits well. "I Want Some More", by Dan Auerbach. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zmFW6LGJKD4

Tommy opened the door to his bedroom, allowing you to enter. He didn’t fail to notice the light trembling in your hands, being the keen observer that he was, and he let out a deep breath before shutting the door behind him.

You glanced around the rather derelict room, seeing discarded clothes haphazardly on furniture and the ground, the crucifix on the wall, and the fireplace that looked like it hadn’t been used in a while. There was a bottle of whiskey on his bed table, and a half-full glass of it among other things.

The window was closed, and the room was a bit stuffy. Turning around, you looked at Tommy before looking at the floor, not sure what to say. You swallowed, wrapping the coat tighter around your body.

Tommy tilted his head slightly, looking at the ground as well. The scarce lighting in the room gave his face an almost skeletal appearance, the darkness set around his eyes indicating a lack of sleep.

“Take the coat off...” He murmured, something he realized he did quite often.

Your heart skipped a beat, fluttering against your chest like a butterfly in a jar. You hesitantly pulled it off and set it on the chair to your right, looking at the scarlet lining of the coat before looking back at Tommy. He blinked a few times, his crystalline eyes looking back to your frightened ones before he nodded towards the tiny bed.

Your breathing became shallower, your worries were coming true. He was going to—

“It’s very late. Go to sleep.” He said, lighting a cigarette and beginning to undo his collar and remove his waistcoat and gun holster. Your thoughts traveled for a moment to the Webley revolver, but you decided against any course of action.

“My name’s __________, though I suppose you already knew that.” You said, looking at him. He was looking at you as well through listless eyes.

“I suppose I did.” He said in a quiet voice after a few seconds, repeating your words. It was an odd thing to say, almost like he wasn’t fully present, or as if he was speaking for himself from another perspective.

You looked away to watch the cigarette smoke drift up to the ceiling before pulling back the covers to lay down. With a pillow under your head, you were close to the wall, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

Tommy sat down on the edge of the bed, making its iron frame shift a bit. He put the cigarette out in the overcrowded ashtray and finished the whiskey in the glass in one drink. You watched him sigh and look at the wall above the fireplace mantel for a bit.

 _A penny for his thoughts_ , you mused wistfully.

He looked down to you, and you shut your eyes quickly. You weren’t pretending to be asleep, you just didn’t want to catch his gaze. A small, half-hearted smirk flashed across his features, but once again, you failed to see it.

It _was_ very late, and despite the situation, you fell asleep.

* * *

“Get up.” Tommy said evenly, immediately making you alert. You looked around a bit, seeing sunlight filter through the white curtains on the window, and you looked at Tommy, but turned away when you saw that he was changing his shirt. You had gotten a glimpse of his bare chest and arms, noticing his faded tattoos and many scars.

You wondered where Tommy had slept, if he had slept at all. Had he slept in the bed too? It seemed much too small for the both of you...

There was a rapid knocking on the door, and you pulled the covers tighter over yourself when Tommy told whoever it was that the door was unlocked.

The young man in the doorway gaped at you in surprise before regaining composure. “It’s a Special, Tommy, he’s looking for the Holloway daughter.” He looked to you again. The man looked like Tommy, and you figured they were related to each other. You hoped it didn’t look like you’d slept with Tommy in any way that _didn’t_ involve actual sleeping, but you were sure that it did.

Tommy put on his jacket, “Thank you John. Tell him she’s here on her own accord. And she doesn’t want to go back.” John nodded and left in a hurry, shutting the door.

“Is that so? ‘ _On my own accord'_?" You asked Tommy haughtily, curious about what telling your father that you were here because you wanted to be would bring about in his plans. You wondered where the line between the expected submissiveness of a hostage and your usual cheekiness was, hoping that Tommy would be more lenient than the usual gangster.

Tommy looked at you, slightly surprised by your fearless words. “I'm not accustomed to be spoken to like that by somebody in your circumstances.” He said. You weren’t exactly sure if it was a threat, his words making you back down.

“But that is so.” He confirmed. “Here’s some clothes for you.” Tommy said, tossing you a bundle Aunt Polly had put together and had left outside the door sometime before dawn.

He noticed the bruises on your arms from Pierre when he dragged you out of your house and to the car, wishing they weren’t so noticeable. John had seen them, and he’d say something to his family that he hadn’t wanted them to think about, and he planned what to say should they question the discoloured marks.

“Thank you.” You asked, wondering why you were thanking him. Tommy just nodded and left the room quickly. You took the opportunity to get dressed as quickly as it was humanly possible.

The clothes were practical: a soft dark blue skirt, blouse, a sweater. There was also a pair of black leather Mary Jane shoes that fit rather well. The outfit was simple, but comfortable.

Tommy returned, opening the door after knocking and without waiting for a reply. He looked you over, nodding in irrelevant approval before gesturing to the hall. “We’ve got work to do.”

* * *

He’d led you through a pair doors into what you figured was his base of operations. It was crowded and buzzing with men, and you knew that bookmaking was the Shelby’s primary business. From what you could tell, it was very much _nicer_ than the drug-dealing your father regularly did.

Through the buzzing room, Tommy took you through another set of doors into a much quieter one with a group of people sitting at a table, clearly waiting for you and Tommy. The man named John was at the table, and you figured that he and the others were members of the Shelby family as well.

When Tommy shut the doors behind him, a man sitting at the end of the table stood up with his hands confrontationally on the table. He had a moustache, and he wasn’t wearing a jacket. His braces were hanging down around his waist, and he had a hairstyle similar to Tommy’s.

“Since when do we kidnap the daughters of our enemies?” It started off relatively calm, but became more and more upset as the man spoke.

“Everybody knows about it, even as far as the fucking Hoxtons!” The man continued. Tommy’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything. Tommy knew that if the Hoxtons had heard about it, so did the Sloggers, and the Italians, the Slims, and every other family in England.

“Burn their gardens, run over the family cat, not steal their most _fucking precious thing_. They’s got allies, Tommy.” The man said frustratedly. His name was Arthur, as you’d later find out. You could tell he had clearly been drinking, and maybe on something more.

You’d seen men on the drugs before, come stumbling into your father’s office yelling for more.

The rest of the people in the room were quiet, watching you. A woman entered the room swiftly, and you recognised her sharp voice from the night before. It took you a second before realising she was speaking to you, and not Tommy.

“Did he fuck you?” She asked abruptly with shrewd scrutiny. You were taken aback by the brashness of her words, swearing not having much place in your upper-class life. Before you could answer her question, she asked again. “Did he hurt you? Take off your sweater. Now.” She ordered pointedly. She had dark eyes and curly brown hair that she'd tried to put up in a fashionable hairdo.

You looked at Tommy, but he only continued to look at the man who’d spoken angrily. Not at you.

You removed the sweater tentatively, revealing the dime-sized bruises on your upper arms. Fingerprints. Tommy's family shifted in their seats uncomfortably, and the woman spoke again.

“Did Tommy do this to you? John told me all about how you were in his bed at your own free will. That’s what he told the Special. I don’t happen buy any of it.” She said seriously.

“ _Pol_ ,” Tommy finally spoke, trying to reassure her with the truth. “Pierre was rough on dragging her... the girl put up a fight.” You put the sweater back on, uncomfortable with the gazes from the people. Pol seemed to believe him.

“It doesn’t matter Tommy, word of this is out already. War is very much imminent with her father and the rest of the families, but now you’ve gone and dragged the Peaky’s into this mess.” Pol snapped. For a woman, she had a lot of say in the family. Your mother had no part in the business just because she was female, and yet this well-dressed woman was giving Tommy, the head of the family, a telling off.

“I have got a plan... But the girl can’t be in here when I brief it in full.” You got an adverse feeling at his words. “We’ll have a proper family meeting later.” Tommy announced with some irritation. “The girl and I are going to the _Garrison_.”

Tommy took hold of your arm, tugging you out of the rooms you’d entered, out of the door, and out onto the street. Before you could take in your surroundings, he swiftly pulled you into an alleyway on the opposite side of the lane, behind some crates and out of the sight of the Shelby headquarters. Any nearby people fled the vicinity without hesitation, pretending that they hadn't seen anything as they usually did when Tommy Shelby had a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

He abruptly cornered you, pushing your back against the grimy wall of a building by one of your shoulders. His left forearm was on the bricks above your head, and his right hand was now carefully holding your face by your jaw. Your heart raced and you were breathless in alarm, this being the first time he’d been physically rough to you. Tommy's controlled expressions never once showed any signs of anger during the unpleasant ordeal, instead having a chillingly serene look on his face.

Pierre had been much meaner to you, being substantially stronger and more brutish, but he was _nothing_ compared to Tommy Shelby.

Tommy was _frightening._  His chiseled features and pellucid eyes likened him to something sharp, a knife, a _razor_.

However, it far more than just his appearance and use physical force. Most of Tommy’s threat factor came from his power and control, and though his actions could have been warning enough, he felt the need to pull you aside and assert his authority; to say what he expected of you so none of his plans could be diverted in any way.

He moved his face closer to yours. “For the time being—” He stopped when you tried to turn your head away, a brusque tug on your chin ensuring that you didn't do it again. “ _Hey_.” He cautioned smoothly. “Look at me.” He said, his low voice faintly menacing. Your eyes reluctantly went to his, their usual blue looking almost green from dim sunlight filtering from the grey clouds above. 

His tone was huskier and gentler when he continued, nodding his head slightly as he spoke. “For the time being, I need you to act as though you were _truly_ here on your own accord, and let no shadow of doubt pass in anybody's head. Do you understand?”

You'd normally quip something back in any other situation, but Tommy’s dangerous tone and actions prevented you from doing such a thing. You only nodded, acknowledging what he was asking of you. You’d have to play his lover or whatnot. Convincingly.

“ _Good girl._ ” He said, releasing your jaw and moving away, straightening his jacket. You swallowed and looked up at the overcast sky from between the roofs of the buildings. Tommy leaned back to you suddenly, and you saw another change in demeanor.

His voice turned steely, “Don’t you go running either, I’ve got men on both ends of the lane. Men who I’ve seen break Germans apart as if they were your mother’s china plates.” He saw the fear in your eyes, not extending his warning any further.

Tommy studied your face as he let out a small breath. He moved his hand to your cheek lightly, almost _affectionately_ , before once again stepping away. The softened look on his face didn’t make the frightfulness of his warning leave, but it did make you feel better somewhat.

He walked with you, one hand casually in a trouser pocket and the other arm loosely around your shoulders, the short way down the lane to the _Garrison_ , a tavern, a pub. You hadn’t really thought over what Tommy had meant when he said he was taking you to ‘the _Garrison_ ’, but for some reason, you hadn’t expected a pub.

Small Heath was bustling, ugly, crowded, and loud with the shouts of the people and the workings of machinery. Every person that saw Tommy Shelby either greeted him respectfully or quickly walked away with their eyes on the ground, fear evident at all times from both types of people. The whole thing was an utterly new experience for you, and you looked at the pub, perfectly in place with its surroundings. 

Before entering, you spoke without much thought. “I’ve never been in a pub.” You looked at the swinging doors, hearing lots of noise from within. You were a rich, sheltered little girl, never having really been to cities or pubs, or _out_ in general. This you thought about with some contempt.

“Never.” Tommy repeated with some amusement. He opened the doors, letting you in first before stepping in front of you. You saw that is was rather dark and smoky inside, but it wasn’t ominous. There was much exuberance, and the place was nicely decorated and rather open.

The people in the pub didn’t stop talking when they saw you and Tommy, but it did quiet down a little before the noise picked back up again. Tommy opened the doors to a small room that you figured was for his use only. In the room was a booth table and chairs, a large non-translucent window, illuminating the room with a soft white light from outside. He motioned for you to sit down and he did too.

He tapped on a small, opaque, double-door window in the wall, and in a few moments, the window opened and two glasses were pushed through without question by a smiling barman. It was no surprise to you that Tommy got such service.

Tommy lit a cigarette, offering it to you. You shook your head, looking at the smouldering end of it. “Mother always says that smoking gives her a frightful feeling in her chest.” You laughed suddenly at how stupid it sounded.

Tommy chuckled, taking both drinks off of the small counter. “I suppose your mother also says whiskey’s just as bad.” He took a drag from his cigarette. He pushed one of the glasses to you, but you didn’t take it. It was mainly an act of harmless defiance in your case, but you also didn't want any impaired judgement around Tommy.

Because of this, the mood changed, and you decided to try to get to the point. After some calculated silence from you both, you spoke. “You want to talk business.”

“Yes.” He said tersely, taking a drink from his glass.

“I can assure you, I don’t know anything of my father's affairs.” You said, putting your hands in your lap. It was a lie, and you _did_ know about some things in his business, just snippets of what you could get out of your mother and through keyholes of doors your father preferred to keep shut from you.

“That’s not the sort of business I want to talk about right now.” Tommy said, wondering about how much you _actually_ knew, and what it would take to draw out that information.

“What other sorts of business are there, Tommy?” You asked, the light audacity of your regular speech finding its way back into your voice.

Tommy was once again taken aback by your boldness. Though you initially came across as a spoiled girl from a family made wealthy by all the wrong means, he figured that any daughter of a crime lord would have a certain degree of defiance to her. His thoughts went to his own sister, Ada, and her dauntlessness.

“Oh, lots of sorts, __________.” He said, his eyebrows raising for a moment as he spoke. It was the first time he’d said your name, and you liked the way he said it, in that Brummie accent. It was very different from anyone else who’d ever said your name before. He finished his drink.

Tommy was about to continue speaking, but a young boy ran inside, out of breath and clearly panicked.

“Finn.” Tommy said seriously, urging the boy to speak.

“Tommy! It’s that Special, Tommy! He’s gone over here to find the girl from a tip off one of the Brannagan boys! He’s comin’ to the pub right now!” The boy said in one breath. You wondered if the Special that was coming might be able to take you home.

On the prospect of going home, you realized that you'd had more excitement in less than twenty-four hours than you'd had in three years. You looked at the table in thought.

“Go home Finn.” Tommy said calmly, and the boy ran out. If there’s anything Finn had learned from being a Shelby, it was to run when he was told to. Tommy turned to you. “Hold your breath for as long as you can.” He ordered. The subtle urgency in his tone prevented you from asking why, and you followed his strange command.

Tommy put out his cigarette, quickly mussed his hair up, then shrugged his jacket off and loosened his shirt, a split-second plan of his going into action. There was the sound of some commotion outside, chairs scraping, and you started to feel your lungs ache from the lack of air. You couldn’t figure out what Tommy was doing until it was too late to protest.

He stood up and suddenly grabbed you, pulling you over to his seat and making you release the breath you had been holding in surprise. With you facing him, he yanked you down against his trousers-covered lap. You gasped loudly, covering your mouth and trying to get a hold of your breath. You were shocked and flustered by his actions.

Your hands were on his chest, about to push away from him when the door swung open and Tommy moved your hips again, much to your discomfort and mortification. You were blushing furiously, breathing hard, and straddling his hips. To the Special that had barged in, it clearly looked like you were being more than familiar with Tommy.

The Special immediately looked away to be considerate. Your mouth was agape and you were about to say something, but Tommy’s hands squeezed your hips hard and you stayed quiet, leaving you with nothing to do but look at the young-looking Special and grip the front of Tommy's waistcoat.

" _May I help you?_ " Tommy said in acted irritation, though his voice was still cold and controlled like it usually was.

The man cleared his throat. “Oh, excuse me, I’m Inspector Harlowe C. Traynor. Miss Holloway, I... I came at your father’s insistence... though it looks as though you’re right by me.” The man said awkwardly, clearly flustered and unsure of how to act in response to you. It was clear to him that John Shelby’s assurance of your being here without force was correct. “I’ll, er, make my leave now, and I’ll inform your father.” With that, Inspector Traynor left, eager to vacate the scene.

The front doors of the pub could be heard swinging shut, and the usual rowdiness of the pub continued.

The second Tommy released his tight hold of your body, you shoved off of him hard, the force making Tommy grit his teeth and you fall onto the dirty ground. You picked yourself up quickly, straightening your clothes. Tommy looked up at the ceiling, avoiding the look of embarrassment and upset on your face, his lips parted ever-so slightly.

“Now I understand why I should have had that drink earlier.” You said bitterly, turning from Tommy and brushing the dust off your clothes. The thought of the Inspector speaking to your father about what he'd witnessed worried you to no end, and you were surprised that the Inspector hadn't questioned further. What would your father think? Would he tell Mother?

“ _That_ was the sort of business I needed to discuss, regarding you and me.” Tommy said hoarsely, reaching for your drink and reclining further into his seat as he often liked to sit. You crossed your arms and felt your heart rate settle somewhat.

“The business of convincing every person in this pub, in Small Heath, Coventry...in all of _England_ ... that you are here because _you want to be_.” He said slowly, accentuating certain words. He felt that in the alleyway he'd gotten his point across, but he wanted to go over the details in full.

You looked back at him, seeing in the hazy, natural light of the room that he was short of breath and more disheveled than he had been when the Inspector was there and you'd been astride Tommy's lap.

You found that all very curious.

Tommy continued, shifting his seated position a bit. “Of course, there’s also another side to that business.”

“ _What I get out of it._ ” You whispered, thinking things over.

“Yes, what you get out of it.” Tommy repeated, confirming your words.


End file.
